Children of Time, TARDISode 6: The Courtship of Sally Sparrow
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: The course of true love never did run smooth... and with a green-eyed detective on the prowl, Watson and Sally's commitment to each other is soon put to the test. Follow-on from 'Watson and Sparrow'.
1. The Ignoble Bachelor

**==Chapter 1==**

**The Ignoble Bachelor**

_But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er  
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!_

\- Iago, Othello

The TARDIS was _magnificent_. It didn't take a detective to realise that the time machine was very, very old, and Sally felt that she and the sentient ship had already established a sort of kinship. She laughed as the ship careened on its flight through what the Doctor called "the Time Vortex," clinging to one of the railings. Sherlock Holmes held on to one of the struts, and John clung to another.

The Doctor himself was whirling around the center column, driving a ship that was apparently intended for more than one pilot. "So, Sally Sparrow—love the name, by the way, brilliant—what... would you like to see? Anywhere in time and space."

Sally grinned at John, then at her host. "What about _your_ world, Doctor?"

His own grin froze, and the rest of his body with it. He cleared his throat and said, "Wish I could take you there. You'd've loved it."

Her grin faded. "It's not there anymore, is it? Oh, God, Doctor, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "It's all right; you didn't know."

She smiled tentatively, wishing for the second time that day that she didn't have quite as big a mouth as she apparently did. "How about I let you decide, and you just take us somewhere fantastic. And preferably not life-threatening."

The Doctor's grin returned with more than a hint of daredevil to it. "But where's the fun in that?" She gave him a Look, to which he replied with a chuckle. "All right, all right—somewhere fantastic, coming right up!"

* * *

A starry-eyed Sally fingered her new spidersilk scarf as the group re-entered the TARDIS, which the Doctor had somehow produced for her from the marketplace. "That was just... absolutely _incredible_..."

Watson smiled admiringly down at Sally - the scarf did look lovely on her, bringing out the colour of her sparkling eyes. It was a great relief to him that this trip, Sally's first, had been free of any incidents; he'd spent the entire time half-expecting _something_ to go wrong.

The Doctor grinned in glee as he started the TARDIS back up, he was obviously loving having another new passenger. "That was nothing compared to the _Fourth_ Great and Bountiful Human Empire."

Sally's eyes were round. "There's a _fourth?_ Good grief."

"One has to wonder what happened to the previous three," Holmes muttered under his breath. The detective wasn't at all certain why the Doctor had seen fit to encourage Watson's latest infatuation - he certainly couldn't understand what his friend even saw in this... young woman. Of course they owed Miss Sparrow some measure of gratitude for her assistance in besting the Weeping Angels, but surely a clean break between the two would have been kinder in the long run?

Overhearing him, the Doctor shrugged. "Oh, same thing that always happens to empires in the end."

"Overexpansion, corruption, deterioration, desolation," Sally answered softly. "And before you know it, you have the Acropolis and the Colosseum in ruins."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "Well, it's not always quite that bad. Anyway... think it's time to call it a day and sleep on what to do next, eh?"

Watson hesitated. He wasn't all that tired himself, and his leg was still holding up well. He looked inquiringly at Sally. "What say you, my dear? Do you wish to retire... or perhaps you'd like to see some more of the ship?"

Sally shrugged. "Whatever works... I admit, I would like to see more of the ship, though." She smiled questioningly at the Doctor.

He nodded back. "Fine by me! Should warn you that halls and corridors and rooms shift position a lot, but the old girl _does_ make the effort to accommodate passengers. She's also pretty much infinite—even I'm not sure what all she's got and where it is."

Sally gave a short helpless laugh. "Slow down there, Doctor, you're starting to hurt my head." She shook it, grinning.

"Right, sorry. Come on, then!" The Doctor leapt down from the upper deck. "Lots of ground to cover between now and teatime."

Her eyes narrowed. "When's teatime on a time machine?"

The Doctor leaned in, saying in a confidential tone, "When the pilot says it is."

Watson chuckled as Sally laughed, then turned to Holmes. Before he could say anything, Holmes hastily interjected. "Not this time, Watson. I must confess myself more fatigued than I first thought." He only realised after he said it that it was actually true - he couldn't immediately recall when he had last slept.

Watson frowned in concern, kicking himself for failing to notice earlier just how weary his friend looked. "You're probably right, Holmes," he said kindly. "We'll see you in the morning, then." And that was a good point, they'd both have get used to living without clocks again. Waking up in the homeless shelter to his first sunrise in ages had been a shock to his system, but he'd thankfully fallen back into the old rhythm quicker than he expected.

Holmes resisted the urge to grit his teeth at Watson's tone - no doubt his friend had intended to sound solicitous rather than patronising... "Indeed." He forced an apologetic smile in Sally's direction. "Pray excuse me, Miss Sparrow - I look forward to furthering our acquaintance on the morrow." Although it wasn't with any great pleasure. "Good night to you." He favoured her with a very slight bow, then turned and left the room without waiting for a response.

"Good night," Sally called softly after him.

She stood staring at the doorway, apparently deep in thought, until the Doctor broke the awkward silence by saying, "Well, then!" and nodding invitingly at the same door. "Shall we?"

Pulled out of her musings, Sally smiled and nodded. "Yes, please."

For his part, Watson was starting to feel more than a little uneasy. He'd have to make time to talk seriously with Holmes once they'd both rested; and now that he came to think of it, this would be their first chance for a proper one-to-one since they were reunited. He was hopeful, however, that Holmes would relent in due course, once he understood that Sally was no threat to their friendship - he had done so with Mary, after all.

Laying his concerns aside for the present, he took the hand Sally held out to him, and smiled at her impishly, murmuring, "Just wait till you see the library..."

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Holmes spent a largely sleepless night. His mind was simply too full to allow his body to rest – even the TARDIS's music couldn't soothe him this time. Finally, he managed to doze off in his armchair, waking what seemed only a short time later, and not feeling noticeably refreshed.

He wandered blearily into the kitchen, in search of the strongest coffee he could get his hands on, to find Watson already there, brewing a pot of what smelled promisingly like Holmes's favourite blend. The detective hesitated for a moment in the doorway. Perhaps he had been a little hard on his friend... after all, the poor fellow had been under considerable emotional strain of late. Small wonder he'd formed such a swift attachment to Miss Sparrow, the one familiar face in strange surroundings, who in turn must have been quite swept off her feet by Watson's inherent chivalry. How often he'd seen the good doctor unconsciously have that very effect on the women of their own time - never mind an impressionable young girl, raised in an era which was largely devoid of courtly graces.

Watson had turned at the sound of his footsteps, smiling, until he properly took in Holmes's state, eyes filling with concern. "Oh, Holmes..." He put the final touches on the cup he was making and handed it to the detective, who seated himself and sipped the strong brew gratefully, hands wrapped around the cup to keep them steady. "I'm sorry I didn't find you and the Doctor sooner." He returned to the coffee pot and started making one for himself.

Holmes was taken slightly aback, not so much by the apology as the subject matter. "Watson, my dear fellow," he sighed, "why must you constantly hold yourself responsible for circumstances entirely beyond your control?" He waved his hand. "The completed DVD was set to that specific time and place– whether you had taken a week or a year to find all of those fragments, there was nothing you could have done to affect that." He gave his friend what was intended to be a reassuring smile, but which felt rather wan. "Do bear in mind that the Doctor and I knew from the very beginning that you and Miss Sparrow–" even now, he couldn't quite prevent a flicker of disapproval from crossing his face, "would succeed in your endeavors. For the two of us, it was mostly a matter of waiting patiently." Which, admittedly, wasn't one of the detective's foremost virtues...

"Mm…" Watson took a sip of coffee, his knowing smile tinged with empathy. "How bad was it, 1969?"

Holmes grimaced, still undecided over what had been the worst part – although there was certainly plenty to choose to from! The clothes, the music, _Peter Cushing… _not to mention being forced to live in squalor with the Doctor without the cushioning benefit of the TARDIS, or a housekeeper. "Let's just say I swiftly gained a far greater appreciation of Mrs. Hudson." At least Watson had only experienced flatting with John Smith, who'd been much better house-trained.

Watson echoed the grimace. "I'm sure. And living once more on a student's budget was not something I enjoyed at all…"

The doctor rubbed wearily at his temples, and Holmes realized with a pang that he hadn't seen his friend look so thin and haggard since their first acquaintance. He nodded in sympathy, more determined than ever to keep his friend from any further misery. The very last thing Watson needed just now was to attach himself to a girl who simply wasn't right for him, which they were certain to discover eventually - better for both of them that it should be sooner rather than later. "Still, I must say, Watson – having read minutely your account of those two months –I don't imagine I should have fared vastly better than you did, had our positions been reversed."

Watson flushed faintly. "I wouldn't go quite that far… Wait, you read _my _account… oh, dear Lord. Tell me I wrote nothing I'll regret for the rest of my life?"

Holmes's expression was deadpan, eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't go quite that far," he echoed innocently, allowing Watson to interpret the cryptic comment however he wished.

Watson groaned and passed a hand over his face, slumping a little over the table. His eyes widened suddenly. "And Sally might have read it, too… As the American teenagers would say, 'My life is over'." He folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them.

Holmes nodded slowly. "I should imagine she has." He frowned as if in thought. "Forgive my obtuseness, Watson, but I fail to see why that should trouble you so." Although he hoped to hear a detailed list...

Watson lifted his head, replying falteringly, "Well, it was… There were some very private things in that account – I had not counted on anyone else ever reading it… least of all a young woman about whom I wrote… some things I would rather have said in person, if I would have let her know at all."

Holmes sighed as Watson's blush deepened, spreading his hands. "Watson… I realise I am ordinarily the last person of whom to ask advice on such a matter… but why have you _not _spoken to her on the subject? What makes you think the young lady would not welcome an honest declaration of your regard?"

"I have! Somewhat… Only she… would have read the notebook before I had the chance to tell her. And we had some… difficulties… which were purely my fault, but I'd imagine that anything she read would have taken her by surprise."

No doubt – although Holmes had been greatly surprised to learn that the veritable slew of nauseating sentiment in that journal hadn't turned Miss Sparrow's stomach the way it had his. He raised his eyes in supposed despair. "My dear fellow, far be it from me to judge… but if you cannot even find it in you to speak candidly to a young lady whom you are _courting_…" He shook his head as if in disappointment. "Forgive me, Watson, but you did not hesitate to do so whilst walking out with Mary. What makes this case any different?" He had never entirely approved of Mrs. Watson - or she of him, come to that - but Watson must surely be aware that although his period of mourning was officially over, in the eyes of their world he would be reattaching himself with almost unseemly haste.

He set his coffee cup down and got up from the table. "Well, I suppose I'd best go and make myself a shade more presentable." At least some of what he'd said must have made an impact, judging by the growing gleam of doubt in his friend's eyes. "I shall see you later." Sternly suppressing any qualms of conscience – for all their sakes, he would see this unpleasant duty through - he strolled out of the kitchen towards his bedroom, leaving Watson sitting alone in doleful silence.

* * *

As it turned out, the library was Sally's idea of _paradise_. The entire ship, as far as she had seen, was incredible, but the library was the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her life. After a long, deep sleep in a bedroom much like a bed-and-breakfast room, she found her way back and began to acquaint herself properly with the place.

After an hour, she stumbled upon a section dedicated solely to medieval literature. The brilliant thing was that the books looked as though they were actually that old. She pulled one out and opened it; the illuminated letters on the title page morphed from Middle English to very readable modern English. She gasped. At John's behest, the Doctor had explained to her the TARDIS's translation matrix, but she'd been unprepared for that.

_The Canterbury Tales_. The next classic on her reading list. She looked up at the ceiling, smiling suspiciously. "Convenient this, yeah?"

The TARDIS twittered in what sounded like quite an innocent tone.

She grinned, shook her head, and set to reading the book. She was five pages into the first story when she heard footsteps and a male voice say, "Ah, good day, Miss Sparrow."

She started and looked up to see Sherlock Holmes with his own open book, having just rounded the corner. She smiled tentatively, not knowing the Great Detective as a person very well yet and not sure how to, well, behave around him. Even John's own journal could only get her so far. "Hello, Mr. Holmes." She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Ah, please, call me Sally."

He looked vaguely self-conscious, and more than a bit worn. Well, he _had_ just been stuck in the Sixties—she couldn't begin to imagine what that must have been like for him. Still, she had to admit, he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. "As you wish… Sally. Forgive me, I had no intention of disturbing you. I confess I had not expected to find you here unaccompanied."

Sally frowned slightly—what on earth was _that_ supposed to mean? Why would she be "accompanied"? "Well… I am." She shrugged. "Wanted to really explore the library, and John… Not sure where he is right now, actually."

Holmes—Sherlock? Mr. Holmes?—smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I haven't seen him since breakfast." He glanced at her book. "May I ask what it is you're reading?"

She grinned again. "_The Canterbury Tales_. It's fantastic—I know it's Middle English, but I can understand it perfectly!"

"No doubt the Doctor has mentioned that that side effect is a permanent one."

She blinked. "Ah… no… It's permanent? Really? Wow." Actually, that could come in handy… She shrugged with her eyebrows. "Well, I guess it's not a _bad_ thing…"

"Mm, it can be most useful at times—although I confess, only being able to hear and read every language as English since leaving Tibet has become a little monotonous."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.

He smiled. "With the exception of French, to my great relief—then again, it has always practically been my native language, anyhow."

She smiled back. "I love French," she said wistfully, "but I never got any further than secondary school with it." Never seemed to be time for it.

"That is a shame." He shrugged lightly. "On the positive side, however, you now have a great many more career options open to you."

She smirked and hummed, thoughts going distant quickly… If she went back to her time, it was true: there'd be no end of things she could do with that kind of ability. But if she stayed with John…

"You have no idea how many scholars in our time alone would kill to be able to translate Egyptian hieroglyphs at a glance."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, hardly paying attention. If she did stay with John, there wouldn't be many options open to her, not as a middle-class housewife. She knew what she was up against, and she still wanted, more than anything, to be with John. The problem still lay in working out a respectable occupation for her time that would give her _some_ kind of stimulation and satisfaction…

He grinned ruefully. "The temptation to take shameless advantage of those abilities once I returned to London was terrible."

She couldn't help grinning back, returning to the present. "I'll bet. I must admit, it would be nice to use that in a professional capacity."

"Yes, it is good to see how many more opportunities there are for women now in the professions than there used to be."

She nodded slowly. "In your time, women can't even vote yet," she mused aloud, shaking her head. "It's not fair. It doesn't make _sense_—we're people, too, and we have just as much right to have a say in who governs us as any man. Just as much right to do what we want to do." Oh, where had _that_ come from? _Shut up, Sally, and get off your suffragette soap box; now's not the time to test Holmes's political waters_.

He nodded, not seeming to mind. "It is a great shame that the women of our era have to struggle against such binding conventions and traditions—" he sighed—"and of course, being thought of as unconventional is so often equated with being unwomanly, which can then become a stigma for the unfortunate lady's family as much as for herself. I have seen it happen all too often."

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "It _changes_—it just happens slowly…"

He smiled sadly. "Indeed—although I do wish the price for such change did not include two global conflicts!"

She flinched—he knew about the World Wars? "I guess that only goes to show how messed-up the world is."

He hummed thoughtfully, expression lightening. "But as you say, things improve, eventually." He nodded down at her book. "And I am keeping you from your reading."

Why did she feel flustered? What was wrong with her? He hadn't done anything. "Oh, it's no big deal, really, but, um, I suppose I'll see you later then."

"Of course." He nodded amiably and walked away, and she watched him until he was out of sight.

She could never have told anyone in her time about her hopes for her future—no one close enough left. She hadn't known either of her parents, and her grandma—the only relative she'd really known, the woman who'd raised her—had died of breast cancer just before Sally had entered college. She'd had several friends but no close ones aside from Kathy. There had been _no one_ in the past year around to try to talk some sense into her, and in one conversation, a man she barely knew had managed to stir up doubts she'd thought she'd successfully quelled.

Terrific.

* * *

**A/N from Ria:** *glares at Holmes* I swear, my hands were itching to slap the arrogant little toad while writing this chapter - and this is him being magnanimous! Unfortunately, _self_ analysis is not one of our dear detective's strong points, either...

**A/N from Sky:** My gosh, yes. Poor Watson and Sally! The course of love never did run smooth, particularly when outside forces are involved. Oh, and to fellow Star Wars Expanded Universe fans out there... if you thought you recognized the title? _You did_. ;D


	2. The Devil's Advocate

**==Chapter 2==**

**The Devil's Advocate**

_O my soul's joy!__  
If after every tempest come such calms,  
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!_

\- Othello

Watson had made his way to the medbay straight after breakfast, feeling the pressing need to take his mind off his troubles for a short time by catching up a little on his neglected studies; that hadn't been his fault, of course, but still... He was deep in perusal of a datapad on mongolism - which he was glad to see would be reclassified in future as Down's Syndrome, much less stigmatic - when he heard Sally's murmur coming from the doorway: "Hey."

He looked up, smiling. How was it possible that she looked more beautiful every time he saw her? "Sally... " He rose at once, setting the pad down. "I'm sorry, were you looking for me?"

"Not for that long - I think the TARDIS led me here." She paused, smile faltering slightly.

He nodded. "I'd imagine so." His brow wrinkled as he noticed her hesitation, his own lurking insecurities starting to creep back in. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's fine, it's just..." Sally sighed. "Oh, how do I even ask this? It's just that I've been wondering..." She grimaced in frustration. "This is ridiculously awkward!" Watson's heart sank as she gave him a helpless look - was she already homesick for her own time? "I'm sorry, John, but I can't help wondering about... about Mary."

_Ohhh. _Watson closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a load lift from his heart as understanding dawned. "It's all right, Sally," he said gently. "Truth be told, I've been expecting you to ask about her for some time." He drew her across the room and sat down with her on one of the beds, squeezing her hand encouragingly. "Was there anything you wanted to know in particular?"

She sighed again, looking down at the floor in thought, then answered softly, "I was skimming through your earliest stories again in the library... Mary is only mentioned a handful of times after _The Sign of the Four_." She looked up then, frowning. "Nobody in the future is even sure what happened - all we know is that you got married, and then you were back to having adventures with Sherlock Holmes all the time..."

'All the time'? Was that really the impression he'd given his audience? Choosing not to address that point for the moment, Watson merely nodded, expression grave. "There is a very good reason for that, my dear. Holmes has made many enemies in the course of his work, some of whom are still at large, who would gladly exploit any perceived chink in his armour. As his friend and colleague, I could accept the dangers to myself, but not to Mary. So I did what I could to keep her safe, short of omitting her from the stories entirely -" He couldn't have kept the note of tenderness from his voice if he'd wanted to. "Which I must confess, I could never quite bring myself to do." It was a relief to him to know that, should Sally choose to accept a proposal from him, he would be able to protect her in much the same way.

Sally nodded slowly, looking more than a little subdued. "That makes sense..."

Watson's heart ached to see her distress returning. There was clearly a great deal more that was worrying her, but what could he do when she was reluctant to confide in him...? Oh, for God's sake, he was a damned fool - what had Holmes been saying to him only this morning? His friend was absolutely right: if Watson couldn't bring himself to talk openly and honestly with the woman he loved, then he didn't deserve her. "Sally, love..." he ventured softly, taking her hand in both of his, "what's troubling you?"

She took a deep breath, and murmured, "I just... I can't help wondering... where would I even fit? Not just in Victorian... early twentieth century conventions, but also... in your life?" She looked up again, her deep amber eyes filled with doubt. "Where would I be? Waiting for you to come home... praying that you would?"

His brow furrowed, dismayed that she'd obviously been fretting over the issue for some time. Deciding to start at the beginning, he answered slowly, taking the time to choose his words carefully. "Sally, I do understand how the women of your time must view the lot of most women when I come from: as little more than domestic slaves, chained to the hearth, with nothing expected of them except to bear children and wait hand and foot on their husbands." He shook his head sadly. "And, I'm sorry to say, they'd largely be right. Is that how you've imagined Mary's existence, too?"

"Not exactly!" she blurted out hastily, then quieter, "But sort of... I mean, I _know_ there's more to it than that—history major, you know? But... still..."

Watson regarded her solemnly. "Sally... I think it's time that I told you something about Mary – something which no other soul knows, not even Holmes..." He waited a moment longer to heighten the tension, then said mock-gravely, eyes twinkling, "She couldn't cook."

She was startled into a high, disbelieving laugh. "What? She couldn't... what?"

"Complete disaster in the kitchen–" Watson chuckled, "the blessed girl could burn water. In fact, she did on our first morning at home: tried to make a pot of tea, and burnt the bottom right out of the kettle."

Sally's laugh became a fit of giggles. "Oh no!" She shook her head, still grinning. "How awful."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," he smiled. "We managed to muddle through the first week, until we found a fulltime cook." Married life had contained so many pleasant moments that a few minor accidents hardly seemed to matter. "Sally, the point is that Mary was never a prisoner in her own home; nor did I expect her to be something she wasn't. If domestic tasks had brought her any sort of satisfaction, I would have been happy for her. But it didn't, she found it much more fulfilling to be out and about, become involved in charity work, and so on – she was on several committees. And as long as she was content with the life she led, then so was I."

She nodded slowly, her smile fading again. After a few moments, she spoke very quietly, not meeting his gaze: "...was she content with the time you spent with her?" She dared to look up then. "You're a doctor... _and_ you're also sort of a detective..."

He met her gaze steadily, saying firmly, "But I was also a husband, first and foremost. Sally, if I hadn't wanted to spend time with Mary, to build a life with her, I wouldn't have proposed! True, we both had our own pursuits and pastimes; but I always looked forward to returning home and spending the evenings with her, talking together, sharing the day's events. However dreadful a day I was having, the thought of coming home to her never failed to help me through it – and I am certain that she cherished those times just as much.

"As for my working with Holmes..." He hesitated a moment, considering how best to explain - there was a great deal that he had been forced to omit from the beginning of his account of the Adler case... "Well, for the first few months after I left Baker Street, we saw little of each other, for obvious reasons. Even after our employment by the King of Bohemia, Holmes took care not to request my presence on his cases more than was reasonable. I know he didn't altogether approve of my marrying, but he respected Mary, at least, in his own way, and her claim on me as a wife. Neither of them ever spoke of it to me – but as far as I could discern, they did eventually manage to come to an accord."

Sally listened to his explanation with a contemplative look; when he was done, she leant forward and wrapped her arms around him gently, resting her chin on his good shoulder. "I'm not doubting you, John," she murmured. "It's just a lot to take in."

He returned the embrace gladly, murmuring back,"I understand." He pulled back a little to look her in the face, smiling proudly, although a little shyly. "And, Sally... thank you for trusting me. I know it can't have been easy to ask any of that."

She reached up tentatively and touched his cheek, then suddenly grinned. "Well, it would be a little ridiculous _not_ to, seeing what we've already been through together..."

That grin of hers never failed to melt his heart, nor her touch on his cheek. He had to resist the growing urge to tighten his arms around her and kiss her breathless, sternly forcing his mind to stay on track. "Yes..." He cleared his throat, nervousness returning once more. "Indeed it would. Actually, regarding that... I, ah... I couldn't help wondering... given that you updated my case notes after I left – and thank you for doing that, by the way..." He trailed off, blushing crimson, took a deep breath and tried again. "How, ah, how far back in that notebook did you read, exactly?"

Sally's eyes widened, her own cheeks starting to turn red. "...I don't think I look _quite_ angelic, but it was a sweet thought..."

Watson closed his eyes, blush deepening, head bowing unconsciously. "Every word, then - oh, Lord..." he said faintly, looking back up at her in profoundest embarassment. "Sally, if I had thought for a moment that you'd ever read any of that... I shudder to think what kind of impression it must have given you..." A grown man carrying on like a moonstruck adolescent...

But although Sally was now as red as he was, her smile was radiant. "I thought it was sweet... and kind of mind-blowing, really. I think it's the kind of thing every girl wants to hear about herself from the boy she likes..." Her eyes sparked suddenly with humour. "Besides, I certainly wouldn't have wanted you to see me grinning like an idiot and floating around for the next twenty-four hours."

He shook his head, smiling foolishly. "That describes me rather well after we parted ways at the coffee shop... Every time I thought of you, I found myself smiling -" Every other minute, in fact. "...which I hadn't done in far too long. Running into you that way, being able to talk with you - you gave me new hope, Sally, hope that I needed very badly."

Sally's eyes shone with joy as she leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

Holmes stopped dead at the medbay door, appalled, then hastily backed away again and down the hall before the... lovers had a chance to notice his presence. He shook his head almost despairingly as he strode along the corridors - God help him, what was it going to take to get through to those two? Anxious to avoid suspicion, his campaign thus far had been as subtle as he could manage - perhaps _too_ subtle...

He paused at an intersection, suddenly feeling uneasy. If pressed for a description, he might have said that it was as if his internal compass had abruptly been swung around without his actually turning... He continued on cautiously into the passage before him... and immediately found himself emerging into the very same intersection he'd just left. "What the _devil_...?!"

There was an innocent-sounding whistle from the TARDIS.

Holmes glared suspiciously upwards, then tried to turn around and head the way he'd been going previously - only to end up in exactly the same place. He exhaled forcefully through his nose, lips thin. "Is this meant to be amusing, madam?"

A definitive bloop: _No._

The detective's tone became acidly polite: "Then perhaps some kind of explanation might be in order?"

A door slid open down the passage to his right, the TARDIS twittering at him encouragingly.

Holmes looked at the door a bit doubtfully, fairly certain that it hadn't been there a moment ago. His reorientation had brought home to him, for the first time in a very long time, that this was an alien ship, whose agenda wasn't just on a different plane, but in a completely different _dimension_.

The TARDIS gave a reassuring chirp.

The detective sighed in resignation, it wasn't as if he had much choice. "Very well, then…" He approached and entered the room cautiously, eyes widening as he looked about him. This was obviously a young lady's bedroom, and for a moment he wondered uneasily if it was Miss Sparrow's. But no, the stray garments lying around the room were a very different style to her taste in clothes; besides, a faint scent hung in the air – rose and hawthorn? – and Miss Sparrow didn't wear any kind of perfume.

A light suddenly shone onto one wall, illuminating a small collection of colour photographs. Holmes crossed the room to examine them, and his expression cleared as he saw a strange blonde woman in every picture, slightly younger than Miss Sparrow and wearing a broad, mischievous grin, standing tellingly close beside the Ninth Doctor in one of the central photographs, and the Tenth Doctor in the next. Now he knew why that perfume seemed so familiar – the same scent that had lingered on the Ninth Doctor's jacket. "This was Miss Tyler's room."

The TARDIS's affirmative twitter was distinctly mournful.

"She was with him when he regenerated?"

Another twitter.

Holmes took a closer look at the girl's face in the various pictures, seeing for the first time the difference in the photograph with the Doctor he knew: the laughter in Miss Tyler's eyes only partially concealed a lingering echo of hurt and confusion... "She was in love with him..." he said softly, " before he changed."

Sad beeps.

Holmes didn't have to ask if the Doctor had been in love with Miss Tyler, that much was obvious every time the Time Lord so much as mentioned her. "She must have been... quite remarkable." In the past, he had considered asking the Doctor what really happened at Canary Wharf, but from the few hints the Doctor had dropped, he'd thought better of it.

There was a flurry of noise and light from the ceiling - the TARDIS had clearly been fond of Miss Tyler, also. Holmes sighed faintly, the sadness of this hallowed shrine starting to impress itself upon him. He was surprised to find himself asking, "Is there no way at all...?" then fell silent, more than a little embarassed at his unexpected sentimental moment.

There was a string of enigmatic beeps, then an indecipherable mess of noises, which was resolved by the TARDIS gently nudging at Holmes's mind. He saw silent images of himself with Watson in the kitchen, then in the library with Sally... The detective tensed, feeling oddly guilty, although far more annoyed at having his activities monitored. "_That's_ what this is about?"

_...Watson and Miss Sparrow together, smiling, content in each other's presence... Miss Tyler holding hands with the Doctor..._

"Exactly, and look at how that ended!" A man and woman from two different worlds, forced to part, their devotion to each other no protection against the cruelties of the Universe...

The TARDIS beeped frustratedly. _...the Ninth Doctor alone in the control room, worn and haunted... his forbidding glower becoming a grin of affection as he looked at Miss Tyler, standing in the snow in an elegant Victorian evening gown..._

But Holmes was rapidly growing weary of this - the TARDIS's insistent telepathy was almost as bad as that damned Squid, Mileen. "Enough!" he snapped... and felt the ship leave his head, an instant before the room was plunged into total darkness.

The detective's eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. He didn't even bother trying to make his way back to the door - either it wouldn't open, or wouldn't be there at all. "So now we're down to coercion, hm?"

Low-pitched beeps: _That's up to you._

Although he tried to keep his tone reasonable, it still came out mildly pleading. "It's never going to work, anyhow - all I am trying to do is hasten matters along!"

Stubborn bloops.

Holmes sighed explosively, throwing up his hands, completely out of patience. "All right, _fine_, have it your way!"

A questioning beep.

Oh, for God's sake... He gritted his teeth, grating out, "No more interference - satisfied?"

Subdued twitters.

Oh,_ she_ didn't like having to do this? Holmes pointedly ignored that, asking with icy politeness, "Now, if I might be on my way...?"

The lights slowly came up again, the door opening.

"_Much_ obliged," Holmes said tersely, and stalked out in what he hoped was the direction of the control room, pretending he didn't hear the mournful croon behind him.

* * *

The Doctor had been staying out of the way as best he could, giving Watson and Sally some time to court in peace. Thus, here he was in the TARDIS's engines, doing the maintenance the old girl always needed, when a forceful set of footsteps sounded in the hall and entered the room. He pulled himself up and stared at Holmes, who looked more like a thundercloud than the Time Lord had ever seen him. "What's up?" the Doctor ventured.

The detective looked as though he wanted to say something and then thought better of it. "Nothing to be concerned about, Doctor," he said brusquely; "the matter has been resolved."

The Doctor's eyebrows hiked higher—the man certainly didn't _look_ like the matter had been resolved. "All rightie, then." Deciding to fish around a bit, he looked down and fiddled with the console. "By the way, have you seen Watson and Sally?"

"I believe they're somewhat… preoccupied at the moment." Under his breath, Holmes added, "Please do disturb them…"

Ohhhh boy. The Doctor sighed quietly. "Oh, Holmes…" He'd hoped Mr. I-should-never-marry-myself-lest-I-bias-my-judgement would handle Sally's presence better than this, maybe even befriend her. He liked intelligent people, and she was a clever young woman. Why couldn't he just be happy for his best friend?

This called for a plan. Trouble was, what more could the Doctor do that he wasn't already doing? Watson and Sally were busy with each other, and the Doctor could hardly justify a proper adventure right at the moment, and heaven knew he was dull as a doorknob when he _wasn't_ on one. _Oh_. Oh, wait. What if he brought someone else into the equation? Sally was fresh and young and had already brightened up the place considerably, but maybe someone else even younger…

He exhaled explosively. "I think… I think we need to balance things out a little." He arched a mysterious eyebrow at Holmes, eyes alight.

Holmes tilted his head, looking intrigued in spite of himself. "What did you have in mind?"

"Wayeeell, I know of a young detective-to-be who's waiting for us to come back for her." He smiled—he knew that Beth had developed a good rapport with Holmes. An energetic American girl ought to be just the thing to pull the detective out of his funk. Besides which, he'd promised her. "Whaddaya think?"

Holmes hesitated, then shrugged casually. "Well, you did promise, I suppose—I've no objection."

The Doctor studied him briefly, then shrugged himself. "Okey-dokey, then." He grinned at a sudden thought. "Betcha you'll have yourself an apprentice whether you want one or not." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. Maybe, with any luck, Beth would thaw more than just Sherlock's attitude…

The detective groaned, closing his eyes. "I suppose it's too late now to alter my vote?"

The Doctor grinned wider. "Yup. Come on, you know you'll have fun."

"I'll wait until I'm having it to be convinced," Sherlock said dryly.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow again. "Oh, I have a feeling she could convince you—she's a persuasive talker."

Sherlock gave a quiet huff of laughter; he probably already knew that. The Doctor never _had_ gotten the details of how exactly Beth got on-board with the conspiracy. "This trip is already promising to be far more trouble than it's worth—" He grinned suddenly, and the Doctor grinned back to see it, relieved. "_Allons-y!_"

* * *

**A/N from Ria:** See, we told you Beth would be back! Stay tuned for the next episode, in which an old enemy of the Doctor's is about to rear their ugly heads yet again... _and_ it's the last full-length episode before the finale! *bounces*

**A/N from Sky:** Plus, we have a couple of _very_ special and very _real_ guest stars coming! Trust me, it's an episode you won't want to miss!


End file.
